


Overdose

by VeryShyViolet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Free Verse, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryShyViolet/pseuds/VeryShyViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's boredom overcomes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A kind of free verse work I started a very long time ago, but intend to continue. The title is a work in progress.

Sherlock was alone at the flat but  
that didn't mean he wasn't very  
bored and analyzing everything.  
Flatmate was out on a grocery run,

Probably a trip to Sarah's too.  
Maybe he should text John and  
ask him to stop by St. Bart's. But  
Sherlock's mind would only go on.

(Endless and thinking  
and deciding and figuring  
Deducing,  
and grasping the unknown  
at the speed of light.)

There had been no cases  
for far too many weeks.

Boredom.

So a certain stash hidden  
even from Mrs. Hudson  
was dug out.

~~~~~~~

Haze, a fast cold haze, but a  
necessary "evil" to dull his  
mind from its constant work  
and the autopilot quick wit.

Forgotten where he was for  
a second, but that's okay;  
it means he's driven his head  
off the train tracks far enough.

After the needle had delved  
and pushed beneath skin,  
his mind lifted with the effects  
and all the deductions thinned.

Oh, he could lie here for hours  
(was he still lying down?) doing  
nothing and feeling almost  
nothing-- was that John cooing?

When did he return? Was that  
the stomping up the stairs  
(devoid of a limp) earlier?  
God, he was too incognizant to care.

Now besides the clock and its  
ungodly loud ticking tocking,  
he now saw his blogger above  
him - but couldn't hear him talking.

It'd be proper to smile at him;  
society's unnecessary rules  
called for acknowledgement  
or you were more likely to

get snapped at or even hit.  
The detective let what he thought  
was a faint grin appear, just  
to placate John, make him stop.

But there was still persistence  
from the short, stocky man.  
Sherlock struggled onto his feet  
and attempted a hug, a second plan.

He however pitched forward onto  
a hedgehog's belly, and somehow  
he had the hands of an otter  
and John was still annoying now.

Sherlock laughed at the absurdity;  
boy, it'd been a long time since  
he'd laughed last - he didn't care  
much for jokes. Too stupid, minced

predictability and all that.  
However, the hedgehog before  
him was clearly a garden-variety  
(what?), rolling in fertilizer floors.

White bits speckled the pants  
along with slivers of wood;  
complete with the smelly soil.  
Only a garden hedgehog would

carry on like that...

Blackness was curling in  
around the infinite tightness  
in Sherlock's chest. John was...  
"Sherlock. Sherlock! Fight this..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's hurt more than himself this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter, especially since I see someone has subbed to it! Hi, friend!  
> This will be subject to edits.

Sharp chemical scent filled  
his nostrils when he woke up.  
Formaldehyde mixed with an  
unfamiliar; bright light cut

in through the dusty room.  
Crisp, cold, very stiff sheets  
covered his dreadfully  
skinny frame-- the room reeks.

It's Sherlock's room, the  
one he never goes in except  
to check his preserved  
specimens where they slept.

He lifted his aching head  
and the first thing he saw  
was John standing by his  
window, deep in thought.

His John was pale-faced,  
and tight lines were carved  
stressfully into his visage.  
Sherlock slowly lowered, heart

rate picking up. He abruptly  
failed at being undetected  
though, as John crossed his  
arms. His tone was affected

as he uttered an acknowledgement.  
"Sherlock." he sighed, turning to face  
him. Sherlock swallowed dry. "John."  
His voice was hoarse, raspy in this state.

"How do you feel?" John asked,  
and Sherlock detected curtness.  
He blinked, and opened his  
unnaturally shaky mental prowess

to all the details John carried.  
Sleeves rolled up, hard work,  
yet his front is damp and slightly  
smells of sweat (even vomit-- hurk!).

Then it clicked. All the grinding gears  
clunked into place internally; his weak-  
-ness, John's unkempt state. Sherlock's  
been through this before, hospital sheets

"bliss" with Mycroft. Bollocks.  
Sherlock opened his mouth again,  
and croaked out, "I'm..sorry."  
John smiled falsely, it was strained.

"You almost died, Sherlock," he said,  
still managing a slowly fuming grin.  
"How do you feel?" Sherlock's brow  
knitted in confusion. "I... like a tin

of sardines." he replied truthfully, and  
John's nostrils flared. Sherlock's flouting  
heart sank a bit (he found that odd);  
and John more or less stormed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is driven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A third chapter!
> 
> I apologize, all, for the extremely long wait! I know that waiting for what might never come back is very disappointing, and I feel bad to be doing it to you myself. I've had to read unfinished fics too many times.
> 
> Please enjoy. Hopefully the next chapter will be coming faster than this one!
> 
> \- Amethyst

The detective wheezed softly,  
feeling moisture in his lungs.  
For some reason, he felt  
moisture wick forth from

his eyes, and gritted his  
teeth. He rubbed it away  
gruffly, and chalked it up  
to dry eyes from the sway

of this unused room. His  
mind started to whirl within  
indecision. It was not like  
him to wander after stricken

situations. He clamped down  
hard on the ungraspable nature  
of his thoughts, but like smoke they  
continued to evade nomenclature.

He knew he felt stung by John, for the  
first time in his incredibly lonely  
life. The way that blond man walked out,  
jaw clenched with frustration only.

Sherlock attempted to push  
himself out of bed, feeling  
the stress of it lurch his heart  
joltily. He felt his mind reeling.

It could be the fog of his obvious  
ordeal, but he could swear this  
cacophony of sensation inside  
his chest was something which

he'd not felt since he was very  
young. He tried to recall what  
it was, but that room in his mind  
was empty and shrouded in clutter

of intense fury. He shoved it away  
but still the weight in his chest  
was almost suffocating and  
clung to his brow and breath.

He forced himself out of bed  
with a great lurch and a rocking  
forth, and moved out of the room  
with ache in his body racking.

He searched for his John, walking up  
and down the flat ( _empty_ ), with so many  
clutching of door frames and table  
edges, that he drove his senses crazy.

He finally half-staggered, huffed, and  
half-hobbled to the front door, without  
a care for his rumpled look, torn-open shirt.  
John stood outside alone, in his mind a clout.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock overcomes himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long grand finale. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The door opened, and cold air  
blasted into the door with a mist  
of rain. Sherlock didn't notice  
how his body took relieved respite

from the change in temperature  
in contrast to his hot, damp skin.  
John noticed his flatmate out of the  
corner of his eye, turmoil within

his thoughts intensified at the  
sight of him. Sherlock hobbled  
closer, gingerly halting beside the  
shorter man. John's head bobbed

as he scoffed softly. He opened  
his mouth, then shut it. Sherlock's  
mouth went in an odd shape, almost  
convulsing as many words cropped

up to open the conversation that  
weren't quite right. He felt uncertain,  
for one of the first times in his life, since  
his boyhood had had the curtains

on many painful lessons in the  
past. " _Really_ , Sherlock, what  
were you--" "I merely-- I don't--"  
The two men spoke in the same cut,

simultaneously letting emotion  
spit the words out into the tension.  
They had never been synced in  
this manner before. Heart wrenched in

 _shame_ , Sherlock was surprised at  
himself. He usually discarded John's  
scolds right away - the 6' man wouldn't  
stop for the Queen, as was his wont.

"I'm honestly shocked at you,  
Sherlock," John said, trying again.  
"You've been clean, you've been  
_clean_ for so long, and just when..."

John's mouth shut, and his jaw worked.  
He pursed his lips and his nostrils  
flared. "What was it? Sherlock?"  
He looked at his friend, hostile

notions expected in Sherlock's  
finer features. Except... there  
was an open mouth, and a  
barely noticeable hitch where

the curve of his muscle met the  
smoother flow of his collarbone.  
And the blue eyes were not  
filled with snappy scorn and blown

with defiance. They were...  
heavy. Processing. Doleful.  
John cleared his throat, and  
as if wading through wool,

Sherlock snapped out of it.  
His voice was slightly pitchy  
when he spoke. "I, uh, I. I was..  
bor-- overwhelmed." Fidgety.

John turned, facing Sherlock with  
his whole body, devoting his entire  
attention to the man that needed  
it so clearly. Sherlock felt internal fire

extinguish; his internal struggle and  
cacophony of thought silence. Took  
a breath, realizing something world-  
shattering. He felt naked, couldn't look

at John. He had never felt so vulnerable  
before. He choked, and forced a clearing  
of his throat. "I... And.." he continued.  
Sherlock tilted his head, as if hearing

what he was saying was unbelievable  
to himself. "You make it all... stop."  
John lost composure, feeling his posture  
flinch, shift and his stomach drop.

Sherlock dropped his eyes, shoulders  
falling too. John open and shut his  
mouth yet again for the evening,  
looking exactly like a gasping fish.

Sherlock recovered, and knitted his  
eyebrows together. "Honestly, John,  
you look ridiculous." he snapped.  
John shook himself out of it, on

a new train of thought. And Sherlock  
started doing up his shirt, obviously  
trying to save face. John swallowed,  
and Sherlock went to exit, honestly

embarrassed. John intervened quickly,  
catching his arm with one hand. "Sherlock."  
Sherlock turned, hearing the simple  
request in John's voice. He stopped.

John's grip tightened. He cleared  
his throat, and rolled his shoulders.  
"I, uh..." It was the mirror image of  
himself, Sherlock realized, bolder

than ever with the amount he  
allowed himself to _feel_. Sherlock  
backtracked, then stepped forth  
up to John, _feeling_ the stark

height difference between them.  
John squared his shoulders, and  
attempted to feel braver. The two  
felt clammy as they shook, standing

no braver than two teenage  
idiots in damned secondary school.  
John smiled, eyes absolutely crinkly  
with crow's feet, as he felt foolish.

"Lookit us." he said. "We're..."  
Sherlock braced. "...well, it's  
obvious what's going on here.  
We're..." John let out a flitting,

nervous chuckle. "We're...?"  
Sherlock intoned, looking  
to his Watson for direction.  
John just smiled again, clucking

his tongue. "I guess we can't  
back away from this," he said.  
"Do you want to?" Sherlock said,  
reserving himself, faith fled.

"Oh, god, no." John shook his  
head. Sherlock blinked. He felt  
his chest get heavy, and his  
lips parted. John grinned, and

and patted Sherlock on the chest.  
"C'mon, mate, you don't really  
take me for a queer, do you?" Wait.  
No. Sherlock's knees were jelly.

The previous exchange was only in  
his head. Reality assembled. Returned  
to earth from his fear, he only knew  
his John - his heart was burning

with reciprocal to the very fervent kiss  
that his best friend had swept onto his  
mouth when nothing else could be said.  
His John was everywhere, his mind fizzled

into quiet, and Sherlock knew  
that his John was, was everything.  
He mattered. He was the answer to all  
the question marks he was carrying.

Sherlock didn't think you could overdose on a person.


End file.
